I designed my own monument,

the stone kind,

not the poem kind.

In a fit of mortality,  I

made further explorations

into death,

considering funeral homes and caskets

to pre-order all.

That I didn’t do yet.

There is no one to do for me

as I did for others,

so I must prepare, but

my life is still scattered among the rooms

of my large house made small,

my lasting life in words

more important than accoutrements of life

that no longer can hold it all,

that cover me, that trap me too.

The sun still shines golden, but

I am reminded too often

of the creeping twilight

its orange-pink warmth purpling

to chill indigo,

a beauty of its own, of course, as

long as it can be savored as such

not as a finality.

The river flows, that I know,

no place remaining the same.

Yet I cannot totally push mortality aside.

I designed my monument

to declare myself from the afterlife.

The plot is there, alongside

everyone, all present.

I will leave instructions

eventually.

I stand, though

in my place in the river

as its waters rush by

changing each minute

as I am reminded

eventually

may be too far away.

Barbara Novack is an award‑winning poet and novelist, author of Something Like Life, Do Houses Dream?, A Certain Slant of Light, and Dancing on the Rim of Light. Writer‑in‑Residence at Molloy College, she co‑founded Mendicant Order of Poets and leads workshops and readings throughout the New York area. Her work, praised for its clarity and humanity, has earned numerous honors and continues to inspire readers with its insight and warmth.